It was a mildly curious and irritating week. As originally thought, “The Traveling Exhibition of Doctor Phineus Krane, Professor of Antiquities and Master of Shroud Artistry", did attracted the attention of the local Hobgoblin rabble. A refreshingly naive Halfling reported the body of a dead hob scout in the road. Seeming expectant that I would abandon my charge to launch an investigation. Monastic type, a believer, must have been cloistered too long in the mountains.
Hobs view other races as nothing more than tools—implements to be enslaved, cowed, and put to work. If only she new what a Hob thinks of her people. Halflings are especially prized as slaves for their agile skills and the ease of breaking them to the collar.
Would have been an easy case. Only hours earlier some long-haired oaf and his band of sell-swords demanded bounty for the poor bastard. Told him flat, “Even if there was a bounty on Hobgoblins, this season, one is still expected to bring proof of death.” Loud were his objections but like most cowards they were short. Omitted that knowledge to the Halfling. My job is to keep the peace and killing a hobgoblin isn’t exactly discouraged around these parts. Didn’t do any good though the grease-bag decided he’d take his bounty out of the other band of mercenaries the Halfling was a part of, some flashy dagger. Valuable too would fetch a fine price. I could see why the Paladin wasn’t willing to part with it.
A tussle ensued that quickly exploded into an all out melee. Those Jenkin boys aren’t getting any prettier. Still fighting over the same broad that left town years back. I don’t even think she ever spoke to either of them. Personally, I’m not against an honest brawl, why in my youthful waste… It was looking like it was going to blow out after the Halfling bird nutted Honnerhock… or, whatever his name was. Then, POW! Now, I’ve seen paladins smite evil before but, it is always a sight to see. Had to put a stop to it right then and there before it turned bloody.
Took the vinegar right out of those despicable Banner bastards. The Taldan’s say, “Sick the wolf on the tiger and the hunter’s work is done.” This unfortunately was not the case. The centre piece of the exhibit, Chelish King Haliad III, was on fire. Ironic, that. I was starting to think this other group of rabble was alright what with one of them avoiding the brawl all together. But that uppity Halfling squaw lead the verbal strafing in an attempt to blame the injured party. It wasn’t Krane who started the melee. What was the skinny, arrogant, bookworm to do? Shoulders like a trout that one. Strong breeze would put him over. That table he hid under is probably the only thing that kept him alive.
I confiscated the dagger and sequestered both groups in separate windowless rooms upstairs. Ostler was good enough to wave the fee. Such a friendly chap. Keeping that place running like a top. I’ve always been curious why he didn’t open up a larger Public House on one of the more major routes through the Arthfell. Even opened up some reserved stock to comfort that pompous, over entitled professor. There’s a reason shrouding went out of fashion it’s morbidly depressing. A simple rendering of a person, while they were still alive, along with a token is much more respectable than an imprint of their naked, desiccated corpse. Rendered by magic; what a waste of resources.
Doesn’t feel right punishing all these people due to the destruction of an over priced rag. If it’s half as valuable as Krane claims, in accordance with the law, he has to be compensated for the loss. I hope an answer to this problem presents itself while I dream. The hour is late and I need my rest.